


keep breathing now (all we can do)

by jolybird



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Attempted Murder, Blood, Canon Era, Gen, Minor Character Death, Minor Injuries, Minor Violence, Murder, Snowed In
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:20:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26850532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jolybird/pseuds/jolybird
Summary: Bossuet had a metallic taste in his mouth and this was just his luck wasn’t it?While travelling north to meet an accomplice of Combeferre and Courfeyrac's, they, Bossuet, and Joly are waylaid for several days at an inn by a snowstorm. On the second morning, one of the others guests is found dead. The third night finds Bossuet in the snow covered in his own blood and the knowledge that they have a murderer amongst them.
Relationships: Joly/Bossuet Laigle, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Kudos: 1





	keep breathing now (all we can do)

**Author's Note:**

> Spooky little murder mystery story with no (more) murder and no mystery and Bossuet cracks too many jokes for it to really be considered spooky. When I was like 12 I read a Yu-Gi-Oh fanfic based on And Then there Were None by Agatha Christie and we don’t get to pick what literature becomes part of our subconscious but sometimes I still think of it.
> 
> Title is from Ingrid Michaelson's Keep Breathing. 
> 
> Written for day 5 of [The Miserables Month](https://themiserablesmonth.tumblr.com). The prompt is metallic.

Bossuet had a metallic taste in his mouth and this was just his luck wasn’t it?

He spat out on the snow. He had bit his cheek when he had fallen and it hurt something fierce. And--

Oh. 

Oh, shit.  _ Fuck _ . 

Bossuet pushed himself up, wincing as his arms stung, and looked wildly around. There was blood everywhere and—knife—there had been a knife. He was in the snow and it was stained red around him. Not a lot but enough to be worrisome. He remembered the dark figuring rushing him, the knife had glinted in the moonlight. He tripped. He fell. He hit his head. But when he looked around himself, no knife glinted at him from the snow. He ran his hand over his stomach, his side, his back but found no other wounds but the ones on his arms. They weren’t that deep but they stung and blood dripped down his arms. He needed bandages at the very least, but there were one or two spots that might need to get sewed up. 

The dark figure hadn’t been concealed at all, and Bossuet had recognized the Baron immediately. The recognition was the reason the man was able to knock him backward, slash the knife at him. The baron had tried to kill him. The man from Lille who had been found at the bottom of the stairs yesterday morning hadn’t been an accident that had been  _ murder  _ and oh for the love of every last godforsaken thing on this planet—

Someone had tried to kill him. The baron had tried to make him his second victim, not even the first which would have given him some notoriety.  _ Second _ . No one remembers the second  _ anything _ . He had been the second person Courfeyrac had ever taken to bed with when they were younger and most days he didn’t even remember it. Most days he was  _ Grantaire’s friend Bossuet _ nevermind the fact that he had known Courfeyrac twice as long as he has known Grantaire. There had been an amicable end to their arrangement. Although...well, no this wasn’t important. 

There was blood everywhere because someone had tried to murder him. 

Okay. First things first. He had to get to his friends. If there was a murderer on the loose and he was going after multiple victims, he had to make sure Combeferre, Courfeyrac and Joly were removed from the list. They hadn’t even  _ done  _ anything to the Baron. In fact, Bossuet would be surprised if any of them had had a conversation with him that lasted more than a minute. They had only met him when they arrived at their lodgings three days ago, right before the blizzard hit. Well, Bossuet didn’t care about the man’s reasoning. All that mattered what that his friends did not get caught in the path of his knife. That and getting inside before he froze to death in the snow. It would be highly embarrassing if Bossuet helped do the Baron's job for him. 

Standing proved difficult and Bossuet had to favor his right side heavily but he had just sprained his ankle. Almost murdered and the worst injury was his ankle. 

He had been outside, watching the stars, thinking about how one minor misstep could change the entire course of his and his friend’s lives when the Baron snuck up on him. Thank god he hadn’t been that far from the house. Although, that led him to how he was going to get inside without the Baron realizing he hadn’t finished him off. If he could make it to the others, together they could overpower him but if the Baron caught him alone...

The door opened as he neared it, robbing him of having to plan, and Bossuet braced himself to run or to fight or—

“Fucking hell.” Combeferre swore, skidding down the steps to reach him. 

“The man from Lille was murdered. The Baron came after me next but...failed?” It was unclear why he was currently walking around un-murdered. Either he changed his mind, Bossuet’s slip made it seem like he had done his job for him, or maybe he got spooked. The Baron had looked him in the eye but maybe there had been a case of mistaken identity. 

“Thank fuck for that.” Combeferre sighed and pulled him close for a moment. He kissed the top of his head and it was altogether too touching so Bossuet had to make a joke. 

“I’ve never heard you swear so much, what would your mother think?” 

Combeferre huffed and his breath was visible in the moonlight. “Well you’ve never been almost fucking murdered before, have you?” 

“Well,” Bossuet said, tilting his head to the side. “At least that we know of.”

Combeferre muttered something under his breath. Probably another curse. “We have to get you inside. Come on, everyone is having supper so I can sneak you up to your rooms. How is your arm?”

“I regret to inform you I’ve been more grievously injured falling from a tree. It’s the both of them, he had at them with a knife. Ankle’s only twisted.” 

“That’s quite embarrassing.” Combeferre agreed. “But you’ve still lost a fair amount of blood.” 

He pulled off his cravat in a dashing sweep of a motion and wrapped it around Bossuet’s left arm. He tied it tightly and pushed back Bossuet’s sleeve to see the other. He pushed it back down and Bossuet took his silence to mean he was fine. 

Combeferre debated something silently for a moment in which Bossuet realized he was shivering. He hadn’t planned on being outside for long or lying face down in the snow so he was ill equipped for the mid-winter night. Combeferre scooped Bossuet up into his arms without warning and as if Bossuet weighed nothing. 

“Combeferre.” Bossuet gasped, wrapping his arms around his neck delicately like a fairy tale damsel in distress. 

“Corpse, please, just in case anyone sees us. I have a plan to entrap him.” Combeferre frowned and Bossuet let himself go limp. He jerked as Combeferre nearly dropped him and snickered ungracefully. 

“If I didn’t know you so well, I would think you were having delusions from the blood loss.” 

“I’m naturally like this, my apologies.” Bossuet said without moving. 

“You’re also quite heavy so if you could just—“

Bossuet sighed, threw his arm around Combeferre’s neck, and rested his cheek against his shoulder. It wasn’t exactly comfortable but he was off his ankle so he wasn’t complaining. Plus, nestled against Combeferre’s chest as he was brought some warmth back to his bones. Combeferre went back into the house silently, and Bossuet shut his eyes. He didn’t know what sort of plan Combeferre had in mind, personally he was fine with bursting into the dining room and demanding to know what offence he had committed against the Baron to warrant such an attack, but he was willing to go along with it. He was travelling with him and Courfeyrac to Béthune in the middle of winter to meet an unspecified accomplice so he might as well follow Combeferre's lead with this as well. 

The dramatics was for naught as they saw absolutely no one the entire way to their rooms. The four of them were squeezed into two beds although none of them were really complaining. After the night Bossuet had so far, he was already considering demanding they all squeeze into one. 

Bossuet opened the door for Combeferre who glanced around nervously and then shut the door over Combeferre’s shoulder once they were inside. 

Combeferre dumped him on the closest bed without warning and Bossuet smacked his face on the mattress. “You do remember I’m injured, right?” Bossuet asked the bedsheets. 

“You’ll be fine. I want to get back to the others. I’ll tell them there was an accident and that Joly needs to come immediately.”

Bossuet pushed himself up and tuned around to look at Combeferre. “Courfeyrac will demand to come with him.”

“I’ll deal with him.” Combeferre said in a way that made it clear that whatever he considered  _ dealing with him _ was going to make it exponentially worse. “Get in the wardrobe.” 

Bossuet frowned but Combeferre left no room for questions. Bossuet found himself being shoved into the wardrobe and the door shut behind him. 

Combeferre walked to the door, opened it, shut it, and then his footsteps disappeared down the hall. Well, at least in the wardrobe there were shirts and coats (all Courfeyrac and Combeferre’s because Joly and Bossuet couldn’t be bothered to unpack their trunk) to help warm him up. He thought about slipping one of Courfeyrac’s coats on but his friend would gut him alive if he bled on it. Bossuet tucked his arms closer to himself but swore under his breath as he realized there was absolutely blood on at least some of Courfeyrac’s clothes now. Possibly he would have to swoon when he next saw Courfeyrac to distract him from the wounded wardrobe. 

The door opened again and Bossuet froze. It was probably Combeferre and Joly but if the Baron was here for round two--

“Bossuet.” Combeferre said and Bossuet allowed himself the theatrics of getting his legs caught in a coat and stumbling out. 

“Hi.” Bossuet grinned at Joly and Joly turned to glare at Combeferre. Combeferre shrugged his shoulders.

“What did you do?” Joly demanded and turned back around to Bossuet. “There is blood on your shirt.” 

Combeferre put a finger to his lips, “Keep your voice down. We didn’t do anything.”

“First promise you won’t get upset.” Bossuet said because Joly always kept his word. 

Joly went from angry to furious in a heartbeat. “I  _ will _ kill you.”

Bossuet shrugged, “Yes someone already beat you to that attempt.” 

Joly looked at him with absolutely no expression on his face. Bossuet glanced to Combeferre to let him know that they should start talking before Joly’s mouth caught up with his mind. 

“It was the Baron. I’m going to go downstairs to announce that Bossuet has died and that you are sitting with him. Hopefully the Baron will see that you are alone and he’ll come after you.”

“Oh so I’m bait.” Joly huffed but now that they had a plan his voice lost some of the sharpness. 

“The nicest ones are the easiest targets.” 

“I’m not nice.” Joly pouted. 

Bossuet kissed his cheek. Joly continued to pout but it wasn’t as serious. 

“Why would he come after me?” Joly asked, glancing to Bossuet. Bossuet shrugged. 

“He went after Bossuet.” Combeferre’s voice was dark, still angry, and when he said it like that, it was fair reasoning. “Courfeyrac and I will be right behind him and we’ll capture him and make him talk.” 

Bossuet had approximately five and a half questions but held his tongue. 

“Okay, do I have enough blood on me?” Combeferre asked. 

Bossuet found a wet spot on his sleeve and dabbed a little on the bridge of Combeferre’s nose. 

Combeferre looked at him, frowning. “Okay I deserved that.” 

Bossuet grinned and then frowned. “I don’t want you walking the halls alone if you think he’s going to strike again.” Bossuet glanced around as if a solution would appear out of nowhere. 

“I’ll walk quickly and if anything happens I have a pistol. I made it fine there last time.” 

“Oh shit, do you?” Joly asked, ignoring logic for a pistol. 

“Of course he does what kind of pacifist doesn’t carry a pistol around?” Bossuet hissed. 

“Sorry! Should I be carrying one as well?” 

“No.” Combeferre frowned, “I’m going to tell them that Joly wanted to be alone with you and hopefully he takes the bait.” 

“Be careful.” Bossuet told him because from the look on Joly's face, he had remembered to be offended at his role again. 

“We’ll be right behind him.” Combeferre promised again and then he left the room.

“Quick, hide.” Joly whispered, pushing Bossuet towards the window curtains. 

“Reminds me of the time your father almost caught—“

Joly silenced him with a glare and Bossuet allowed himself to be manhandled behind the drapery. 

Joly went to pull away but paused and kissed him quickly. Bossuet almost fell over chasing Joly’s lips as he pulled away. 

Joly laughed and then went over to stand by the beds. He moved quickly but he put a lot of weight on his cane. “I wonder if we should have asked some questions before agreeing to accompany them to Béthune.” 

“It is a little alarming that Combeferre wants to interrogate the Baron himself but, he isn’t quite fond of Barons is he?”

Joly shook his head and tapped his cane on the bed for something to do. 

It was silent for several moments and then moving impossibly quickly, footsteps in the hall. Bossuet honestly didn’t even react, he was convinced that it was Combeferre, or better yet Courfeyrac who was distraught to hear of Bossuet’s demise--

The door opened and Bossuet stopped thinking. 

Later, Bossuet couldn’t tell you exactly how it happened but one minute, there was a gun pointed at Joly, the next--sheer pandemonium. He leapt from behind the curtains, the baron shouted and raced for him. Bossuet twisted around to dodge him, more alarmed than afraid. Joly was at his side, swinging his cane like a bat. A shot ran out, it hit the ceiling and then there was a shattering of glass, silence, and then a crash. 

“Oh shit.” Joly whispered. Running to the window, he glanced over the ledge and then he ran towards Bossuet. Bossuet caught him around his waist to catch him and kissed him on the forehead. 

“I’m sorry. I was so scared.” Bossuet whispered against his skin. 

“I don’t even know what just happened. He was so angry with you! What did you do!”

“I am no one to him!” Bossuet protested, “and I had never seen him before we arrived. My only crime is that I did not die when he wished.” 

Joly pulled him close and kissed him once on the lips. “We’re fine.”

The moment hung in the air for a moment before Bossuet asked, “I take that to mean we won’t be finding out what just happened?”

Joly shook his head but didn’t look particularly bothered by the fact their would-be attacker had just fallen to his death. 

The door burst open, causing them both to flinch and for Bossuet to brandish Joly’s cane like a weapon, but it was only Courfeyrac. His face was ashen. 

“Combeferre had to catch me on the stairs to tell me you weren’t dead.” He swore, sweeping over to them and pulling them both into a tight hug. “He said something about a plan but I don’t believe you had one.”

“Pretty sure the plan was to get the Baron alone and make him talk.” Bossuet told him helpfully. 

“By throwing him out the window?” Courfeyrac asked, looking over their shoulders to the shattered glass and the few snowflakes that were starting to drift in. 

Joly shrugged. “He improvised that bit.” 

Courfeyrac shook his head, “How are you so nonchalant about your attempted murders?” 

“Why worry about what didn’t take?” Bossuet grinned so that maybe Courfeyrac would calm slightly. 

“Enjolras is going to  _ kill _ us.  _ Bahorel _ is going to kill us.” Courfeyrac whispered, still holding Bossuet and Joly to him. Now that Bossuet was getting the reaction he wanted, he felt guilty for it. Courfeyrac was genuinely shaken. Courfeyrac froze and frowned again, “oh god,  _ Grantaire _ is going to kill me. He didn’t want us taking you in the first place.” 

“We’re our own men.” Bossuet frowned despite the fact he was already dreading telling Grantaire of their adventure. 

“The only one you really need to worry about is Musichetta and seeing as we’re both fine, you should be safe.” Joly smiled but his expression was sticky-sweet and it sent a shiver down Bossuet’s spine. 

Courfeyrac raised his eyebrows as his attention latched onto that piece of information, “Oh? Musichetta? With the pretty eyes?”

Joly rolled his eyes, “you can try to seduce her with your boyish charms but I think she’s rather satisfied.” 

“Boyish?” Courfeyrac asked, pulling away, he frowned and looked at his reflection in what was left of the windowpane. 

Footsteps sounded running up the stairs and Combeferre led a small group of people in, the proprietor and some of the other guests. “Are you alright?” 

“All present and un-murdered.” Joly smiled and Bossuet grabbed his hand and squeezed it. Joly squeezed it back and Courfeyrac took the opportunity to hug the both of them again. 

“Next time we travel together we will do so in summer when there is no chance of being snowed in.” 

“Remember the summer of ‘18 when we first met?” Bossuet asked and Courfeyrac predictably let go of them to glare.

“I try not to but I’m glad we’ve survived this involuntary imprisonment as well. Perhaps I should stop choosing the destination and make you do so next time. At the very least we would both shoulder the blame.” 

Bossuet only grinned.


End file.
